


Crucifix

by FreeShavocadoo



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Guilt, Introspection, M/M, Religious Undertones, but also angst, moderate fluff, themes of sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 13:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18757765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo
Summary: Amado knew, most likely, that Pacho would reject his offer. His loyalty ran too deep, his vulnerability inextricably tied to men who had accepted him when he could not even accept himself. So, under the heat of the sun in Mexico he allows himself a moment to lean back and close his eyes, reminiscing where he’d come from to get where he is.





	Crucifix

There was always compensatory behaviour to be observed in Cartels.

From Gilberto’s insistence he be associated with legitimate business, to Miguel’s assertion that he too, was as intelligent and shrewd as his brother, it weaved all of their desire and violence together in a way that could only be criminal. Their compensatory behaviour leads them into murky waters, ones that they were content to wade in without swift repercussions. Many moons ago, Gilberto had told Pacho that what was once his vulnerability was now his biggest strength, and he couldn’t have agreed more. Many men had dismissed him, mocked him, reacted to him with disgust. Many men lay in shallow graves without even a crying widow, decaying in the ground, forgotten.

 _“You’ll never be anything,”_ his father had spat at him, a rage he was at that age, entirely ignorant to and afraid of, “ _there is no world for a man like you.”_

It imbued everything he’d achieved, everything he wished to accomplish; his desire to be seen as equal and worthy, no lesser than anyone else. But the over-compensation meant he started to want to be seen as more, viewed as more than a mere man with a clouded past and a complex about his private life. He could not betray the men who had accepted him so openly and freely all those years ago, when he was a shadow of the man he is now. Back when words still cut at him until he was raw, when scathing stares were enough to keep his eyes and hands away from the flesh of any other man for years. He’d denied himself for a long time.

Amado knew, most likely, that Pacho would reject his offer. His loyalty ran too deep, his vulnerability inextricably tied to men who had accepted him when he could not even accept himself. So, under the heat of the sun in Mexico he allows himself a moment to lean back and close his eyes, reminiscing where he’d come from to get where he is.

His eyes flicker over to the young waiter, oblivious to the scrutiny he’s under as he pours drinks, pale skin glimmering in the daylight. There was a time just staring like this, close enough to touch and close enough to note the scattering of freckles along the boy’s back, would’ve made him feel such searing guilt he’d take his cross necklace off and lock himself in his room until the thoughts subsided.

The waiter finally stares back, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he beams at Pacho, unabashed and endearing. He looks away for a brief moment before looking back at Pacho once more, holding the gaze with a look of curiosity.

“Could I help you with something?” He asks politely, even with Pacho’s gaze searing holes into his head over his sunglasses.

Pacho leans back in his seat, watching carefully and smiling softly to himself, bemused. He wonders how his life would’ve turned out, had he been so sure of himself when he was younger. Less dark rooms and fumbling fingers, instant regret and guilt clawing up his back as he leaves, always having to fight to take pleasure and never revelling in it for a moment too long.

“Yes,” he replies softly, holding his hand out to the boy and watching as he takes it shyly, “what is your name?”

“Elias.” His voice is gentle but playful, he’s practically twitching with his curiosity, his hand grasping onto Pacho’s firmly.

“Elias,” Pacho repeats, Elias beaming in response, appreciating the attention as Pacho simply stares for a few more seconds, “you’re quite beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He stares down shyly once more, before Pacho’s fingers move his chin up delicately as he stands before the boy, staring at him with loaded eyes.

“Don’t look away,” he says, thumb tracing Elias’ lips softly, moving so close he can feel the boy’s shaky breath, “I want you to know how much I mean it.”

When Pacho’s mouth dances along the side of his jaw, Elias practically _whines_ , fingers grasping onto Pacho’s hair and pulling, followed by further gasps until he’s finally kissed. He seems to take no time to adjust, practically moulding to Pacho’s body as he leans into the kiss. When Pacho finally pulls away, his arms still around Elias’ slender waist, his cheeks are now pink.

 _How_ , Pacho thinks, _is there no place in this world for me?_

Elias’ touches are still tentative, his eyes searching. For all of his curiosity burning through his veins, Pacho can see the same uncertainty and looming guilt in Elias’ eyes he had in his own all of those years ago. He’d achieved so much since then, yet it all seemed inconsequential to the feeling of being comfortable in his own skin and comfortable with touching others. He could offer the boy that much, at least.

He just wishes someone had offered it to him, back then.

“Come with me.” He says, taking Elias’ hand once more and smiling with sincerity when his hand is grasped firmly this time, the boy’s eyes now darker and more deliberate.

Perhaps one day, Elias would look back on this moment and realise that words are nothing compared to the attention, touch and affection of a man he truly wants and needs in the moment or afterwards.

Perhaps he’d feel as though there was a place in the world for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Pacho and I just wanted to write a little about what could possibly be going through his head.


End file.
